When Politeness, Safety, and Silence Become Tools of Harm

Guest Opinion by Alicia Boothe Haggermaker

This isn’t ultimately about me, but let’s use me for an example

As the holiday season winds down, I want to start by acknowledging something simple: I hope that however you celebrated—or even if you didn’t—you experienced moments of peace, connection, or rest. For many people, the holidays are joyful. For others, they’re complicated, heavy, or quietly endured. All of that deserves respect.

This time of year has a way of slowing things down just enough to notice what we usually rush past. We pause. We reflect. We sit with things we don’t normally have time—or courage—to examine.

Interestingly, a new Stranger Things episode dropped this Christmas, and while I was half-watching it in between real life, one theme stood out: a group of friends trapped in a manufactured hell don’t escape because someone rescues them—but because they recognize their own power, see the pattern they’re stuck in, and refuse to keep playing by its rules.

That’s not a sci-fi idea. It’s a human one.

And it’s the lens I want to use here—not to make this about me, but to offer a real-world example of how pattern recognition works when we’re willing to sit with discomfort instead of smoothing it over.

There’s a moment that happens when you speak publicly about uncomfortable things—especially when you challenge systems people have learned to normalize. Someone eventually says, “Why are you making this about you?”

The honest answer is: I’m not.

But examples matter. And the clearest ones are often the ones we’re willing to examine without flinching.

The truth is, much of the work I’ve been involved in hasn’t directly affected me—and that’s exactly why it matters.

My child wasn’t in school when I spoke out against masking children.

She wasn’t headed to public school when I helped other families navigate religious exemptions.

When our group pushed back against smart meters, we fought for people living in apartments—even though none of us did.

I don’t live near the proposed sewage treatment plant planned beside residential neighborhoods.

I don’t intend to carry insurance through certain companies, but I will still fight for fair terms for those who have no choice.

That isn’t self-interest.

It’s pattern recognition.

I’m not the story. I’m one instance of it. And there are many others who have done the same work, often without recognition or reward.

Once you start noticing where policies, regulations, and “reasonable compromises” consistently harm people—often under the language of safety or efficiency—it becomes difficult to look away. Especially when the harm predictably falls on those with the least power to resist it.

Despite what some people project onto me, I haven’t been earning a paycheck during these years of advocacy. I’ve struggled at times. I’ve spent my own money. I’ve absorbed the costs quietly—not because I enjoy it, but because for me this has always been a moral issue, not a transactional one.

I was taught to put myself in other people’s shoes. I took that seriously—especially when I thought about my daughter and the world she will inherit. What we tolerate now is what our children live with later.

This isn’t a story about victimhood or outrage.

It’s about what happens when you slow down long enough to notice where things stop making sense—and refuse to smooth that over just to stay comfortable.

The lesson I’ve taken from this isn’t ultimately about me—it’s about self-reflection.

When I slowed down enough to look honestly at my own reactions, conflicts, and contradictions, I started seeing how small patterns echo outward—into families, communities, institutions, and culture itself. As above, so below. What we don’t examine internally tends to reproduce itself externally.

Once you really sit with that, you begin to notice things that don’t quite make sense. Rules that claim to protect but instead harm. Norms that prioritize comfort over truth. Compromises that feel polite while quietly eroding what matters.

I don’t believe I’m the only one capable of pattern recognition. I think most people are. We just don’t give ourselves the space to breathe through the discomfort long enough to see clearly.

The holidays remind us—if we let them—that reflection isn’t weakness, and discomfort isn’t danger. Growth doesn’t come from pretending everything is fine; it comes from noticing what isn’t and choosing to respond with clarity instead of avoidance or emotionally driven mistakes.

If we can slow down long enough to sit with hard questions, regulate ourselves instead of reacting, and resist the urge to smooth over harm in the name of politeness, we create the conditions for real change. Not chaos. Not collapse. Maturity.

That kind of work doesn’t require everyone to agree. It requires enough people to be honest, present, and willing to recognize patterns when they appear—internally and collectively.

If we do that, we don’t enter 2026 bracing for impact.

We enter it prepared.

A paradigm shift is coming whether we choose to recognize it or not. What it looks like depends on us. If we want a smoother transition, we have to be willing to map it, pilot it, and learn from it—rather than forcing everyone into the same narrow framework and calling that stability.

What works for one community will not work for all. And pretending otherwise is how we end up with policies that create more tension than solutions.

One-size-fits-all policies don’t create unity.

They create pressure.

And pressure always finds a breaking point.

Alicia Boothe Haggermaker is a lifelong resident of Huntsville, Alabama, and a dedicated advocate for health freedom. For more than a decade, she has worked to educate the public and policymakers on issues of medical choice and public transparency. In January 2020, she organized a delegation of physicians and health freedom advocates to Montgomery, contributing to the initial draft of legislation that became SB267.

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